


don't wanna hide us away

by hypocorism



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Texting, Umbrellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypocorism/pseuds/hypocorism
Summary: Courfeyrac always forgets his umbrella and his friends are extremely interfering.





	

**Author's Note:**

> massive thank you to the luminous reachthetree for betaing. any remaining confusing bits/errors are mine.
> 
> hopefully this is clear in context, but in the note bit **Eponine is bold** , _Montparnasse is in italics_ , Cosette is underlined, *and Marius has asterisks*

It's raining (again) on the day that Combeferre realizes he's in love with Courfeyrac.

The horrible downslide into awareness starts, innocuously enough, with Combeferre trying to fix things. Courfeyrac isn't generally a forgetful person. He remembers everyone's birthdays, that Marius hates seafood, and that Jehan has a special fondness for purple plants. He's on time to meetings (most days) and never misses plans without a reason. What he does struggle with, though, are things. People, dates, trivia, they all stick. Making sure he doesn't leave his keys in the refrigerator, now that's more of a challenge.

He's particularly horrible about forgetting his umbrella when it's raining. He always just laughs, shakes his curls out, and resigns himself to an hour or two of wet shoes, but it bothers the rest of Les Amis.

They've tried quite a few potential solutions. First, putting the umbrella stand right next to the door instead of in the coat closet. This worked for about a week, until Grantaire came over one night at 3 am and tripped over it.

It wasn't THAT loud, but the ensuing argument over whether a sore wrist is adequate cause for an emergency room visit woke the whole flat.

\---

"I'm fine," Grantaire says, irritably.

"What if you have a concussion," Enjolras hisses.

"He didn't hit his head," Combeferre yawns. "He doesn't have a concussion."

Courfeyrac has barely stopped laughing for long enough to go get a bag of ice from the kitchen, and isn’t being particularly helpful.

"Fuck you too, Courf!" Grantaire calls after him. More laughter.

"I think we should probably just all go back to bed," Combeferre says. “He is still able to move the wrist and says it barely hurts.” Everyone ignores him.

"At least let Combeferre look at you," Enjolras says.

"He agrees with me that you’re being ridiculous!" They both look at Combeferre.

"I'm putting on some coffee," he sighs.

"Also,” Grantaire continues indignantly, “you massive hypocrite! You actually DID have a concussion after that die-in two months ago and you wouldn't even let Joly run basic tests on you."

"I had things to do! And anyway, that was completely different."

"How is it 'completely different'?"

"This time it's you," Enjolras says, sounding flustered.

Combeferre groans and drops his head onto the kitchen counter. Courfeyrac slips in after him, still giggling.

"Glad one of us is having fun," Combeferre tells the counter.

"Don't be grumpy, Ferre. Your face might freeze that way," Courfeyrac chirps. He's pouring the coffee, though, so Combeferre ignores him to make grabby hands. Courf slides the mug gently toward him, and Combeferre knows without tasting it that it will be just the way he likes it (no milk, one sugar).

"Have they gone back to sleep?" he asks, hopefully. Courfeyrac laughs again.

"I'd sleep with earplugs in tonight," he says, sauntering out of the kitchen.

\---

The next attempt at rainproofing Courfeyrac was the post-it notes. They started simply enough, with an innocent yellow sticky proclaiming "Don't forget your umbrella, Courf! Love, Joly,” stuck up next to the door. Bossuet, deciding that wasn’t visible enough, added one that was just a bunch of drawings of umbrellas which accidentally overlapped with the wall itself. Musichetta's contribution was, "sorry about your living room paint! boss got too enthusiastic w the crayons."

That still didn't work, so the notes started escalating up through passive-aggressive: "All flatmates are reminded of the importance of proper rain safety" (Enjolras). "Addendum- this means you, Courfeyrac!!! -Feuilly"

When that _still_ didn't work, the notes became just plain aggressive "Marius got a fucking cold from you AGAIN if I have to hear one more day of sniffling I'm smothering both of you in your sleep" (Eponine). "Pls just take the damn umbrella Ponine keeps muttering and knitting outerwear!! Love you but I can only wear so many scarves  <3 Cosette."

Enjolras finally called a moratorium on the notes when Bahorel and Musichetta started warring walls of rude drawings and no one could see any of the umbrella notes anymore.

The next attempt involved setting aside ten minutes of meeting time for planning purposes.  
\---

"I never agreed to this," Enjolras declares, as the table-top podium is snatched out from under him.

"We voted on the text thread," Feuilly points out, grabbing Enjolras' elbow and leading him to a seat.

"He doesn't read it the day before meetings," Grantaire says absently, not looking up from his sketchbook.

"Because I'm preparing! And I expect my boyfriend to warn me about upcoming mutinies!"

"But mutinies are so fun," Grantaire says, pecking Enjolras on the cheek. Musichetta, up at the podium, clears her throat.

"We only have ten minutes before Courfeyrac gets back from that fake errand..."

"We aren't actually getting hot chocolates?" Bahorel says, crestfallen.

"The hot chocolates are, of course, very real.”

“We take our hot chocolates seriously in this household,” Joly adds.

"And no more interrupting,” Musichetta continues. “I don't want any of this democratic nonsense now that I'm in charge."

"Tyranny!" Cosette yells.

"Hush, you. Okay, so we're all pretty tired of Courfeyrac forgetting his umbrella..."

"I don't get why this is the whole group's concern," Enjolras mutters. He shuts up quickly when Musichetta shoots him a look.

"Does anyone have any ideas. Raise your hands."

"We aren't school kids," Bahorel complains, dodging out of the way as Eponine's hand shoots up.

"Eponine," Musichetta says, ignoring the interruption.

"I say we hot glue it to his leg."

"That isn't very practical," Joly says, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah, how is he going to open it?" Bahorel says.

"That isn't the aspect I was referring to as impractical."

"Parnasse," Musichetta says loudly. "Any ideas?"

"Which one is Courfeyrac again?" Eponine snickers at this.

"What about a texting tree?" Jehan suggests, diplomatically.

"I don't want you lot having my number," Eponine snaps.

"Babe, how do you think you get all the group texts?" Cosette asks.

"I thought Whatsapp hid my number."

"Erm, no."

"Ugh, I need to block some people."

"Love you too, Eponine."

"Shut up, Parnasse."

"What do you think, Combeferre?" Bossuet says. Combeferre looks up from his notebook.

"I'm just taking minutes."

"This isn't an official meeting!" Enjolras yelps.

"Well," Courfeyrac says, coming in balancing a truly ridiculous amount of hot chocolates, "if it isn't an official meeting I guess these are all for me!"

\---

So, Combeferre starts doing it out of self-preservation, really. Enjolras won't stop complaining about meetings being derailed. Joly has taken to lurking in their flat and ambushing the four of them with Eponine-produced outerwear. Marius is still sick and resembles a very congested basset hound more and more every day. Possibly worst of all, Jehan has developed a very tiny frown line and keeps staring after Courfeyrac looking mildly concerned (which means Montparnasse keeps buying increasingly ugly umbrellas and leaving them on the doorstep. It's a wonder Grantaire hasn't tripped again.)

When Combeferre wakes up at seven to see that it's raining, he doesn't bother with any iteration of the reminder plans. He just grabs two umbrellas. He knows where Courfeyrac's first class of the day is, and it starts just after his eight am lecture finishes. He'll just go by and drop it off.

After that, it becomes a thing. Courfeyrac is always a little flushed and damp from his run from the bus to the building, but he grins happily and accepts the umbrella when Combeferre hands it to him. When they pass each other on campus throughout the day, he's always got it popped open over his shoulder, and he's always twirling it.

And then, one day, Combeferre _realizes_ that it has become a thing. No one knows about their system except the two of them. Enjolras thinks his earnest talk with Courfeyrac was what finally jogged his memory, Montparnasse is secretly happy to see his rotation of (NOT ugly thank you very much) umbrellas being used, and the rest of the group is too thrilled the little drama is over/cozy in their freshly knitted scarves, hats, and gloves to question it. Courfeyrac's classmates know, though.

Combeferre gets to the lecture hall a little early, coordinating blue and orange umbrellas slung over one arm. A girl waves him over, and he realizes with slight surprise that he recognizes her as the person who sits immediately behind Courfeyrac.

"Hello," he says, politely.

"Hi," she smiles. "Your boyfriend asked me to tell you he went downstairs to grab a coffee."

"Oh, thanks," Combeferre says. He's halfway down the stairs before he realizes what she said, and then he's panicking in a stairwell. Why didn't he say something? 'No, he's not my boyfriend?’ 'We're just friends, actually?'

I mean, it doesn't matter, right? He forces himself to start walking again. It would have been unnecessary to clarify to a relative stranger, but. He stops.

What's really making him freeze halfway down the stairs isn’t what the girl said, it’s that he didn't even notice. It just felt...normal, right. The warm sense of belonging, of being two halves of one pair. He slips into that feeling so easily with Courfeyrac.

"Ferre?”

Combeferre jumps and nearly tumbles down the stairs. He does drop the umbrellas.

"Sorry," he says. "Uh, daydreaming, I guess."

Courfeyrac dimples at him. "Take the coffees and I'll grab the umbrellas." Combeferre does. What else can he do?

"I have to go," Combeferre says abruptly. Courf stops smiling and it feels, it always feels, like the sun slipping behind a cloud. "Sorry," he says, voice awkward in the empty stairwell.

"It's fine," Courfeyrac says. He's smiling again, and somehow that's worse. "Here, take your coffee."

"Thank you," Combeferre says, slipping the plaid umbrella over Courfeyrac's arm and keeping the striped one for himself.

"Of course! Tips for umbrella service," Courf winks. Combeferre doesn't know what to say to that, but fortunately a pair of students rushes up past them and they have to dodge out of the way.

"See you at the meeting tonight," Combeferre calls, heading down the stairs.

"Yep!"

He skips the rest of his classes. (Joly is so freaked out by his absence that he texts him to make sure he's not deathly ill, but Combeferre has his phone off and doesn't see it.)

It feels like something hard has hit him in the stomach, like poking a new bruise, like he’s still falling down those damn stairs. This sudden, awful certainty that he's been carefully hiding a huge piece of his heart from himself is difficult to bear.

 _Maybe I'm overreacting?_ he thinks, tapping the steering wheel. He's just driving aimlessly, too afraid of being found to go home. Normally, he'd go to the library to think, but the likelihood of being spotted there is even higher. _He's my best friend. Maybe it's just that. Of course I'd be proud to date him, anyone would._

He focuses on driving for a few miles, tries to breathe. It feels just...too big. Like it's the desperate, hungry ocean inside of him and Courfeyrac is the moon, so far away, pulling him inexorably closer. How did he not notice this? How long has this burning, sinking feeling lurked in the corners of his soul?

He doesn't know. He can't think about it too closely, because these feelings need to be labeled, sealed up, and put away. He can't walk around with this raw, open wound: his heart beating out in the open. It doesn't matter what he feels, he tells himself firmly. Their relationship is set high on a pillar of rock, now, and he has to keep the river at the base only in his own mind.

He takes another breath and turns the steering wheel back toward the flat. If he keeps driving much farther, he’ll be late to the meeting. As much as he desperately does not want to go, he thinks the fallout will be worse. Missing class he can probably excuse with a headache and some judiciously placed comments about how he’s feeling loads better now, but he’s literally never missed a meeting before. He can’t bear for this to be noticed and picked apart, not yet.

The clock in the back of the room (ten minutes fast) reads six exactly when Combeferre arrives. Good. Not early enough to leave time to talk to anyone, not late enough to cause speculation. Courfeyrac isn’t there, yet, and Combeferre uses the time to give himself a stern talking-to, pulling out his Immunology notes and attempting to look busy. He feels slightly like he’s breathing in glass, but thinks he can (probably) get through this meeting without shaking apart.

\---

 **y r 20ccs being weird** Eponine writes at the meeting a week later, shoving the note at Montparnasse.

 _???_ he writes back.

**combeferre and courfeyrac! keep up u nerd**

_they're always weird_

**you know what--** Eponine starts, but Cosette tugs the paper away.

ferre is totally moping but idk why she adds on the next blank line, handing the paper back to Eponine.

"I can see you passing notes, you know," Enjolras snaps. Bossuet starts guiltily.

"Well, be more interesting, then," Eponine says. Enjolras sighs through his nose.

"And a sick burn by Eponine," Bahorel says, adding it to the minutes.

**yeah and y is bahorel taking minutes???**

_no one thought we needed a sub secretary since combeferre is fucking superhuman so bahorel took the job for a laugh. pretty sad when I'm paying more attention at these meetings than u, thenardier_

**i meant, ferre is HERE why isn’t he doing them?**

_’headache’ again_

**’’’headache’’’**

do u think he and courf r fighting :((((

*what r u guys talking about?*

**courferre dramz**

*what happened?? knew i shldnt have missed the meeting last week!*

marius you had pneumonia

**STOP GRABBING THE PAPER YALL IM TRYING TO WRITE**

sorry sugar muffin

*sorry ponine*

deepest apologies my darling daffodil

** >:( **

_ok i txted jehan and they said maybe ferre confessed his feelings n courf just wants 2 be friends_

*???*

**uh what**

ok a of all tell jehan way 2 be subtle I didn't even see their phone and 2 um no courf wld NVR say that if ne1 did it would be ferre

*?????*

**i gotta 2nd marius here what r u on abt my little cabbage**

_nice 1_

**thanks**

whnever the three of us drink 2gether courf gets like 2 drinks in and then starts talking abt ferres arms and shit

*why dont I rmr this ever happening???*

uh bc both of u are lightweights tbh ... who did u think was always calling cabs and getting u in ur pjs

*idk the bartender???*

_u thought the bartender was changing ur clothes for u_

*idk!!!*

just the outer layers don't make me sound like a perv

**wait so why did jehan think it wld be ferre who confessed first?**

_hold on im texting them to ask_

"I think that's a great idea, Enjolras," Jehan says sweetly. "We can bake them ourselves to help increase the money we can donate, too." Montparnasse's phone buzzes.

**ok real talk parnasse is ur partner actually a magician**

i mean apparently!

_they strictly use their powers 4 good unfortunately :/_

*ok but what did jehan say???*

_apparently combeferre 'borrowed' all of enjolras' tswift cds (j saw them when c gave them a ride to movie night) but then e got all cranky bc he couldn't find them--_

*u can listen 2 tswift in any mood that doesn't prove anything*

_i wasn't done!!_

**aha! not so funny when ppl r stealing ur paper now is it!**

_fine I won't tell u!!_

* :(*

now u made marius sad

_ugh fine stop making that face cosette its not like I kicked a puppy_

i mean basically

**back 2 taylor??**

_so the cds reappeared in enjolras' room which we know cuz he wore the red crop top on tuesday_

ah yes. or rather the 'red' crop top. i remember fondly the day he listened 2 that album 4 the first time and then went out and bought the shirt. bless him he's rlly living his best life

**agreed those abs need 2 see the light of day more often ;)**

um GROSS that is my BROTHER

**sorry cuddle-bear. ur tum is much cuter**

_ANYWAY the cds were gone but a mix cd with "sad gay taylor" written on it appeared in his stereo instead_

*ooo that is pretty damning*

I mean it has 2 be abt courf right???

**or enjolras**

keep goin and I'm gonna break up w u

_what if its like feuilly or some...hold on getting a text. uhhh ok jehan says it was def abt courf_

*twilight zone theme plays*

_because they also found_

PLS SAY A NOTEBOOK W M. & M. DE COURFEYRAC <3 WRITTEN IN IT

**lmaooooo**

_tbh that isn't far off. he wrote a letter abt his feelings addressed 2 courf and then hid it under a bunch of stuff in the glove compartment_

**EXCERPTS PLS**

_i tried that but they said nd I quote "I only snoop for matchmaking, not for mocking. That is all the info you need."_

**seems like a cold sign off parnasse**

_-,-_

**r u sure u didn't cut off the end of that text**

_not everyone has a billion weird endearments for the person they're dating_

ya but this is jehan. they once called a grocery line checkout person a 'flower of perseverance'

"Okay, honestly. Eponine, give Montparnasse's phone back," Enjolras says, exasperated. "It's like monitoring a kindergarten today," he adds in a aside to Combeferre.

"Mmm."

"I mean, they aren't even being subtle with the note passing."

"I agree, it is definitely a human rights violation," Combeferre says absently.

"What?" Enjolras asks, confused.

"Ouch! Who the fuck pinches people?!" Eponine yelps.

"Anyway," Enjolras continues loudly as Montparnasse successfully retrieves his phone, lock screen mercifully unbreached.

*uh how did jehan get into the car w/o ferre knowing?*

sorcery

_yes. definitely that. i did not teach them how to break into cars that wld be irresponsible_

**i like this picture of me and parnasse wrestling in a volcano, marius. ur strongest work yet**

we'll put it on the refrigerator

\---

(B THIS is the private one don't mix it up w the group 1 !!!) JMB Texting Thread <3<3<3

M: I still don't see why you made us stop texting during the meeting.

J: Enjolras noticed!

M: Nah, he was just talking to the Incredibly Unsubtle foursome in the corner.

B: Idk Chetta he looked right at me!

M: Rolling my eyes @ both of u

J: Ok so ANYWAY, what are we gonna do to fix Courferre??

M: I said it once and I'll say it again, fake someone's death.

J: I don't think that's terribly practical here.

B: U do have all that fake blood, tho.

J: That's my Halloween stash! U both promised we'd be zombie Charlie's Angels this year!

M: I'll buy u more fake blood. It's for a good cause!

J: We aren't faking anyone's death for at least a year! I am serious about this! Marius wrote that really depressing song last time; I can't sit through that again.

B: We could tie them up.

M: ;)

B: ;)

J: NOT to be the practicality raincloud again but srsly how would we manage that???

M: Knockout gas

B: Don't you have access to chloroform?

J: Um. No??? What era do you 2 think I'm attending medical school in?

M: U don't chloroform people in your classes?

J: *eyes emoji*

B: Maybe Combeferre has some.

J: No one is getting chloroformed!!

M: FINE. Ok how abt we just lock them in a closet together. That worked for E and R.

B: Let's get away from the door faster this time, tho. Enjolras yelled about civil liberties for ages.

M: Good point, Bossuet.

J: Courf will be easy, I'll just tell him we found a puppy and are keeping it in there.

M: :o

B: :o

J: What?

M: That's pretty damn cold. You're really going to lie to Courfeyrac about a puppy???

J: He's getting a boyfriend out of it!

M: Um that is not better than a puppy??

B: I would say ouch but I gotta agree.

J: Stop being dramatic obviously we will also go volunteer at PAWS with him this weekend.

M: Ok the lie is acceptable, then.

B: Puppies!!!

J: Combeferre is the tricky one.

B: Just tell him I twisted my ankle and Joly is too upset to look at it.

M: Devious! I love it!

J: I would not put you in a closet to await medical care, tho. The guest room is more believable. Especially since you probably sprained your ankle on that ridiculous train set that is currently taking up the entire bedroom floor....hint....

M: It's mostly out of the way.

B: U promised we could keep it up till this weekend!

J: Clear floors r the price of my silence. I stepped on a Lego conductor getting up for a glass of water last night.

M: That's why I suggested we get a night light?? Way more practical.

B: Oh, ok. I thought it was because we watched too many horror movies last week 4 the start of Monthoween.

M: Unrelated....

J: Fine a night light AND the train set gets moved to the living room. It will help sell the lie abt Bossuet anyway.

M: I GUESS

B: Only if we can get the kind that projects stars all over the ceiling.

M: YES SECONDED

J: Deal.

\---

Combeferre quickly pauses ‘Last Kiss’ as Musichetta bursts into his room.

"What's wrong?" he asks, half on his feet already before she reaches to pull him up.

"Bossuet tripped and hurt his ankle. He keeps saying he's fine, but Joly's freaking out and...."

"I'll come look," Combeferre says, grabbing his jacket. He has an extensively stocked first aid kit (complete with filched medical supplies) for protest injuries and other various occasions, and he grabs it on the way out the door. "I'll just tell the other three where I'm going."

"No need,” Musichetta says. "I ran into Enjolras on the way in."

Enjolras is indeed hovering in the bedroom hallway, looking antsy.

"I'm sure he's fine," Combeferre reassures Enjolras and Musichetta. Courfeyrac's door starts to open and Enjolras leans back against it.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says, voice weirdly loud. Musichetta shoots him a look that Combeferre would call annoyed in any other circumstance. She's probably just worried.

"Let's go," she says, yanking Combeferre’s arm.

Enjolras cranes his neck to make sure they are clear of the living room, then sighs with relief.

"Enjolras?" Courfeyrac calls. "Why are you holding my door closed with your entire body?"

"Uh...I didn't realize I was!" Enjolras says, turning around and opening the door. Courfeyrac gives him a confused look.

"Puppy!" Bossuet yells from behind Courfeyrac. Enjolras is about to frown at his lack of subtlety (yes, he is aware of his own hypocrisy. Probably they should have had Joly and Grantaire do this part instead of the Actual Worst liars in the entire group.)

Courfeyrac, bless his wonderfully unsuspicious heart, just smiles cheerfully and asks Enjolras if he wants to come meet the dog.

"No, thank you," Enjolras says stiffly.

"Cat person," Bossuet stage whispers, hustling Courfeyrac out of the flat. Enjolras sags back against the wall in relief.

"All clear?" Grantaire asks, poking his head out of Enjolras' bedroom.

"It's up to Joly, now."

"What will this flat even be like with no one pining after anyone else?"

"I honestly don't know," Enjolras says fervently, "but I can't wait to find out."

\---

Combeferre first starts to suspect that something is going on when Musichetta 'accidentally' forgets the turn for the shortcut to her own flat.

"I'm just so distraught," she mutters.

"Do you want me to drive?" Combeferre asks.

"No, no. It's fine."

They get to the building a few minutes later. She circles the lot slowly before parking, seeming to change her mind at the last second and pull in closer to the entrance than she usually does.

"Let's go," she says, pushing her door open and hopping out.

Combeferre gets a little more suspicious when Joly answers the door. Instead of looking worried, he mostly looks out of breath.

"Thank goodness you're here!" he gasps. "Come quickly!" They each take one of Combeferre’s elbows and drag him down the hall to the spare bedroom. He interprets this as concern right up until Joly opens the door and Combeferre hears Courfeyrac's voice say,

"Hold on, there's no puppy in here!"

Peak suspicion.

He turns to look at Musichetta, but he doesn't manage to get the question out before she grins wickedly at him and shoves him into the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Have fun!" she calls, as she turns the lock.

Fuck.

"Combeferre?" Courfeyrac asks, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"We've been locked in," Combeferre says, aggrieved. Courfeyrac laughs.

"I should have known. There is no way Joly would have shut a non-housetrained puppy away by itself."

"Puppy?"

"How did they get you here?"

"Ah," Combeferre says. "Sprained ankle."

"A classic."

"I should have been more suspicious."

Courfeyrac laughs again, fondness edging into his tone. "You're soft when you think someone needs doctoring." Combeferre blushes slightly.

"You follow anyone who claims to have a cute animal. You would be absurdly easy to kidnap."

"Yes, but I've seen way more cute animals than you," Courfeyrac chirps, "so who is really winning here?" Combeferre fights down a grin.

"You win, Courfeyrac. As usual." Courfeyrac tosses his hair and preens, and Combeferre bites the inside of his cheek so as not to smile too widely.

"I wonder what they're up to," he muses. "I don't think anyone's been locked up since that time Marius accidentally spoiled the ending of Breaking Bad before Feuilly could watch it."

"Bahorel was furious," Courfeyrac says fondly.

"Did you spoil anything for anyone?"

"I would never!"

"I can't think why else..." Combeferre starts, but he trails off as Courfeyrac's face suddenly changes. "What's wrong?"

"Oh," Courfeyrac says quietly. "I think I see what's going on. I just remembered. They did the same thing to Enjolras and Grantaire last August."

It ended happily enough for all involved, but Combeferre feels icy all of a sudden. His brain quickly ticks through his own behavior in the past few weeks. Has he been too obvious?

"You do?" Combeferre says, voice oddly strangled. Courf looks so, so sad suddenly and it hurts like that first plunge into too-cold water.

"We should sit down," Courfeyrac says, glancing around the room. There's only the bed, though, no where else to sit.

"I'll stand," Combeferre says stiffly. The mood in the room has changed so quickly that he feels a bit dizzy and needs the stability of the door at his back. Worse, he thinks he knows what Courfeyrac is going to say.

 _I know how you feel. I'm sorry, I don't feel the same way._ He can practically hear it already. Courfeyrac will be nice about it, gentle and kind, not prodding for more information or crossing any lines, but firm and clear.

Combeferre doesn't want clarity. Not about this. He wants to stay in that murky uncertainty where he can grab Courfeyrac's hand to lead him across the street. Where he can steal bites of his dessert with only a tiny smile. Where he can bring him an umbrella when it rains and accept coffees from him and it hurts so much but it feels like flying.

"Um, okay," Courfeyrac says. He perches on the end of the bed. Combeferre is as far away as possible, back pressed against the door so hard he's surprised it hasn't cracked, but the room is small and their feet nearly touch. "You look really uncomfortable, Ferre." They both attempt a smile; neither has much success.

"I'm fine." Combeferre, unsure what to do with his hands, pulls his glasses off and cleans them on his shirt.

"You'll scratch the lenses," Courfeyrac says, voice soft.

"It doesn't matter. What were you going to say?" He wants to yank the words back almost before he says them. This limbo is unbearable but what comes after will surely be worse. Courfeyrac exhales a shaky laugh.

"Sorry, I didn't know this would make you so uncomfortable. I know we don't talk about it, but..." Courfeyrac trails off helplessly, eyes searching Combeferre's face. Combeferre is lost, though. With a brief surge of hope he wonders if maybe he was wrong, maybe Courfeyrac is talking about something else. Surely, he hasn't been so transparent that this has become a Thing They Don't Talk About? But...

"You can talk to me about anything," Combeferre says confusedly.

"Right," says Courfeyrac with a sad smile. "I'm sorry. I think Joly, Bossuet, and Chetta just wanted to help. Tired of all my pining, I guess," he adds in a self-deprecating voice. It sounds wrong, coming from Courfeyrac’s quickbright mouth.

"What?" Combeferre's stomach feels like it has entirely vacated the building and his fingers have gone numb. He can’t seem to process more than the door at his back and Courfeyrac’s hands clenched on the duvet cover.

"Don't make me spell it out, Combeferre." Courfeyrac is going for irritated but it just comes out tired. "I'm in love with you, have been for ages. You don't feel the same way, and that's fine. I'm happy the way things are and so are you, so let's just change the subject and muddle through until our asshole friends decide to let us out."

"What?" Combeferre says, again. He's normally a pretty fast thinker, good in a crisis. This is a bit more like suddenly finding out gravity is an elaborate hoax than having to deal with someone getting arrested, though, so he thinks he can excuse his blankness.

Courfeyrac huffs and flops backward onto the bed. Combeferre forces himself to speak.

"That doesn't...you're in love with me?!"

"Obviously."

"It's," Combeferre sputters, "not obvious to me." Courfeyrac sits back up suddenly, face pale.

"Are you kidding?"

"Uh, no??"

"Everyone knows! Even Enjolras knows!"

"What...I..." Combeferre trails off, unsure what he's even trying to say. His thoughts are fuzzy and fragmented, swinging wildly between languages and ending up somewhere between Ancient Greek and Malayalam.

Courfeyrac groans and drops his head into his hands.

"Fuck. I really thought you knew, I'm sorry. Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?"

Sudden, sharp focus (finally) kicks into gear in Combeferre's brain.

"Still?" he asks, wanting to be sure.

"Always," Courfeyrac says quietly, looking straight at Combeferre. The seriousness sits oddly, but not unnaturally on his clement face. Combeferre sighs, a jagged, broken thing, as he takes the two steps toward the bed. Courfeyrac starts to tilt his head back but Combeferre sinks to his knees in front of him, making their faces nearly level. "Hello." Courfeyrac is soft and bemused, the strained unhappiness from earlier gone.

"Hi," Combeferre says. Stops. Words come so easily to him, normally. Kindness, consolation, inspiration, structure, composition, he knows what needs to be said and how to say it. Before this overwhelming torrent of emotions, though, he cannot speak, cannot stand.

"Combeferre?" Courfeyrac says, starting to look concerned. "Are you..."

And then, finally, the words come. Not eloquent or polished, but raw and vital.

"I'm in love with you, too. How could I not be?" Combeferre says, dredging up words from that still-aching bruise. "I've been miserable, trying to keep it all hidden, but.” He takes a shaky breath. “No, that isn't true." He forces himself to look up at Courfeyrac. "I can't...no matter how much it hurt to think you didn't feel the same, I could never be anything but happy that I've found you." Courfeyrac sighs shakily and grabs for Combeferre's hands without looking down. Combeferre catches him, threads their fingers together.

"Are you sure, Ferre?" he says, voice barely audible. "I need...I need you to be sure." Combeferre closes his eyes, forces himself to breathe. One. Two.

"I can't promise that things will be perfect, or easy, or that we won't have any problems."

"That wasn't..."

"Let me finish, please," Combeferre says gently. Courfeyrac shivers and quiets. "I can promise, though, that no matter what happens, I won't let it ruin us. Whether you change your mind in fifty years or it falls apart after three months, I don't want to have a life without you in it. You're my heart, Courfeyrac. I'm better and kinder and so much happier with you than I ever was before we met. That, I can promise, will never change." Courfeyrac starts crying, and Combeferre gently frees one of his hands so he can swipe at the tears. "You'll always be my best friend," he finishes simply.

Courfeyrac kisses him.

\---

"Can you hear anything?" Bossuet whispers.

"Not if you keep talking," Musichetta points out mildly.

Joly moves his stethoscope closer to the keyhole and waves his arm around for quiet. He nearly smacks Bossuet in the face, but Musichetta tugs him to safety in time.

"Thanks, love," Bossuet whispers in her ear.

"It's what I'm here for," she mouths back.

The front door creaks slightly, and then Eponine and Cosette slip down the hall.

"Did we miss it?" Cosette breathes. Joly turns around, still wearing his stethoscope.

"That's it!" he says, as loudly as he dares. "Everyone out!" Bossuet pulls a pouty face, but the rest of them troop back into the living room without protest.

"I made vegan brownies," Jehan whispers, producing an extremely garish Halloween tin from somewhere.

"That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen," Feuilly says, voice admiring.

"Thank you. I found it thrifting."

"As long as it wasn't in a dumpster," Bahorel mutters.

"I don't use dumpster finds for other people’s food, and anyway, everything gets sanitized," Jehan says mildly.

"Don't eat the fucking brownies if you're going to be ungrateful," Montparnasse snaps. Jehan pats his hand. Bahorel takes a brownie.

"You lot are not as quiet as you think you are," Joly snaps, poking his head into the room.

"You really aren't," Courfeyrac yells from the spare room. "Can we be let out for brownies?"

"Have you sorted your shit?" Eponine shouts back.

"Not telling until you let us out!"

"Clever," Enjolras whispers to Grantaire. "If we'd thought of that one, we wouldn't have had to sleep on the closet floor."

"Yeah. Eponine, how come we got stuck in a closet for eight hours and they got a bedroom and brownies," Grantaire complains.

"You two were way more annoying than we ever were," Courfeyrac states, as he and Combeferre come into the living room. Grantaire makes an indignant noise and Eponine smacks her hand over his mouth.

"Well?" she says.

"It isn't really any of your business," Combeferre says severely. "And Enjolras, we already know you were in on this. You can stop trying to hide behind Grantaire."

"I only want your happiness!" Enjolras ducks around Grantaire's ear to say.

"It's okay, we aren't mad," Courfeyrac says, grinning.

"You aren't mad," Combeferre mutters. Courfeyrac looks at him and he sighs, holding out his hand. "Fine. Neither my new boyfriend nor myself are mad," he grumbles. Courfeyrac kisses his knuckles. Jehan's happy squeak at this is drowned out as the entirety of Les Amis all start shouting at once.

"I knew the plan would work!" Musichetta bellows, loudest of all.

"A pining-free zone in the flat," Grantaire says.

"Whatever will we do with all our spare time," Enjolras retorts drily.

"I'm so happy for you guys," Marius says, so sincere that Eponine has to pat him on the head. Cosette starts humming 'At Last' and Feuilly produces sparkling apple cider and starts passing it around in champagne flutes.

Even Montparnasse is grinning a little weepily, but manages to cover it up creditably with a discreetly passed handkerchief from Jehan.

In the center of it all, Courfeyrac and Combeferre stand together.

"Sorry we didn't manage to do this with a bit more privacy," Courfeyrac whispers, dodging Bahorel's elbow as he pulls Cosette up to join Jehan and Montparnasse on the impromptu dance floor. Combeferre smiles down at him.

"Me too, a bit. But they're happy for us, and we'll have plenty of time later," he says. Courfeyrac grins, and then sobers.

"I'm glad it's you," he says, soft and serious. "I can't believe I got so lucky." Combeferre has too many things he wants to say in response to this, most of them half sense and half poetry. But, they have time for that later. For now, he kisses Courfeyrac again, sweet and gentle like the sunrise kisses the mountains.

"Dance with me," he says, simply. Courfeyrac does.


End file.
